i am silent in my moods, undisturbed by poseidon
i am a pond. he speaks nothing through the watery glass
to me, his jaw is wired with fish bones. he says nothing.
i have taken to drowning myself in bathtubs,
the only body he cannot reach. sinks, and toilets.
bathrooms have become my sanctuary for suicide.
but his terrible beauty has cleaved a path in me,
anointing a buoyancy, preventing my lungs from housing
the atlantic–the hardness and the softness of the oceans
that comes from my faucets.
i want to sink in his salt and hydrogen, but his rough
hands lift me to heaven, the surface.
his rescue is damnation, the water will not harm me.
but the slope of his nose, the blur of eyelashes
against his pale white lacerates me.
across the surface of my inclination,
rippling like a plume.